Boy, Reinvented
by the-lovely-anomaly
Summary: Sequel to the award-winning "Boy, Disrupted." Sometimes the things we cannot change end up changing us. Zack and Cody are on the path towards healing, but can their ghosts be put to rest? What sacrifices must they make? How far must they be willing to go? DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

**In case anyone who stumbles across this doesn't know (and didn't pay attention to the summary), this is a sequel to my story **_**Boy, Disrupted. **_**If you haven't read that, you might want to do so because otherwise you're going to be really confused by this. Of course I can't make you do that, but I highly encourage it. :)**

**Also, just to let my anxious readers know, I have no idea how long this story is going to be but I suspect it'll be shorter than **_**Boy, Disrupted**_**. I'm thinking anywhere from 10 to 15 chapters. If it goes over that so be it, but for right now I'm going to say 15 chapters will probably be the maximum. Even though this is an individual story in its own right, it is predominantly a continuation—an add-on, if you will. I'm creating this because there was so much I wanted to put in **_**Boy, Disrupted**_** but didn't get to.**

**Something to remember: this takes place a full year after the end of **_**Boy, Disrupted**_**. **

**Enjoy. And please remember, reviews are welcome. ;)**

**Disclaimer: You all know the drill. **

Zack Martin came home from his construction job that Friday with grimy hands, an aching back, sore feet, a sweaty body, and a good dose of fatigue. He yawned as he closed the door of his family's suite behind him, and nearly toppled over as he set down his duffle bag. He needed sleep, badly. But even more than that, he needed a shower.

While on his way to the bathroom, he saw that his and Cody's bedroom light was on and decided to see why that was. He should have already known the answer, but he wasn't thinking straight at the moment. He never thought straight when he was groggy.

Sitting up in bed, hunched over a giant textbook that was propped on his lap, was his brother Cody, who'd heard him come in and looked up to greet him. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Zack replied. "Where are Mom and Dad?" He couldn't help but notice that their parents weren't in the suite. Their mom didn't typically have a show until 11:30 on Friday nights and their dad wasn't supposed to get picked up by his band mates until Saturday morning, so he had no idea where they'd be.

"Out," Cody said.

"Out where?"

"I don't know. Just out."

"You didn't ask them where they were going?" That was hardly like Cody.

"I asked them but they didn't tell me."

Zack cocked his eyebrow suspiciously.

"Don't worry, they took their cell phones," Cody told him assuredly.

Zack thought about that for a moment. This was the first time his parents had been "out" by themselves in a long, long time—that is, since he and his brother were little. He smiled at the notion (_Aww, _he thought, _they're doing something together_) but then gave a simple shrug and let it go. He was too tired to contemplate about it much.

"How was work?"

Cody's question nearly caught him off guard. "Huh?" he asked. Then when his brain registered what Cody had said, he answered: "Oh, uh, stressful. How was school?"

"Same." Cody turned the page in his textbook. "Ugh, I have _so_ much studying to do! It's insane."

"Why are you studying so much? It's Friday. You have all day tomorrow and all day Sunday to do it."

Cody snorted. "I _wish_. Tomorrow I've got to work on my research paper for psychology."

Zack grimaced. "Eesh, that sounds…peachy."

Cody had changed his major. He was still going into business, but he'd dropped his law pursuit. Lawyers were just glorified liars, he'd decided. And nothing would change that.

First-hand experience with them had caused him to make that assessment.

"Yeah," Cody said matter-of-factly. "I've barely started it and it's due Tuesday."

"Yikes."

Cody nodded and released a long, slow breath. "I swear to God, this socio-economics class is going to be the death of me."

Zack cringed slightly at the word "death" (it had become a reflex for him to do that), but didn't say anything in return.

Cody continued: "It's not really the material that's hard. It's my professor, Mr. Mallory. He has _no_ idea what he's talking about. He goes on and on and on about irrelevant stuff until class is over and then expects us to know everything. The only way to get the information is through the book, which virtually makes the class pointless."

"Do you know what your grade is?" Zack asked.

"So far I've gotten A's on all the other exams…"

Zack waved his hand carelessly. "Oh, well then you should be _fine_!"

"Well yeah, but that's not the problem. The problem is, I paid over three hundred dollars for that class, plus another hundred or so for this book"—Cody lifted up the textbook and then dropped it back onto his legs—"and this book is the _only_ thing that's helping me learn anything. I coulda skipped the entire class and _still _gotten an A. It's bogus."

"Why is that bogus? Sounds pretty sweet to me—skip every single class and still get an A at the end."

"That's beside the point," Cody declared. "It's the principle of the thing."

Zack rolled his eyes. _My brother,_ _always the goody-two-shoes nerd._

"I paid for the class, Zack," Cody added. "I paid three hundred dollars for it to teach me something…and it hasn't taught me one damn thing." He sighed. "In other words, I guess I kinda feel like I just paid for a four hundred dollar book."

Zack didn't know what to say to that. Cody had a valid point, but there was nothing he could do about it at this point. It was nearing the end of spring semester and finals were just around the corner—two weeks away to be exact. "Well, look at it this way," he offered. "At least it's almost over."

Cody nodded. "Yeah, that's a plus."

There was a pause.

"How long have you been studying?"

Cody glanced at his wristwatch. "About four hours."

"Nonstop?"

"Pretty much."

"You should take a rest."

"I got up to take a piss."

"_That's_ not a rest; that's a bathroom break. There's a difference. Man, what you need is some quality TV time." Zack pointed his thumb back towards the dark living room. "Why don't you go watch something for a while?"

Cody shook his head. "Nah."

"Come on, Codes. There's more to life then studying."

Cody thought for a second. Then yawned. "Okay, I guess so." He closed his textbook and stretched.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," Zack said.

He started to head out the door, but then stopped himself and turned around. "Oh, and one more thing: can you make dinner tonight?" He smiled pleadingly. "I promise I'll do the dishes."

Cody's mouth turned up at the corner in a why-am-I-not-surprised look. "You say that every night."

Zack's smile widened. "Yeah, because it works."

Cody shook his head. He wiped his fingers across his eyes. Forget TV, what he really needed was a nap.

"Look at it this way," Zack added, "if you don't, it's either take-out or _my _cooking. And we don't really have the money for take-out."

Cody considered that and was instantly won over. "For the sake of our health and well-being, I better do the cooking."

Zack grinned and left the room.

…

After Zack had taken his shower and eaten dinner with Cody (who had made them a simple dinner of spaghetti and garlic bread), the two brothers sat at the table in quiet contemplation. Neither one of them wanted to move or break the tranquility, though both of them knew they'd eventually have to.

Cody was the first to speak: "So how's the school coming?"

The construction company that Zack worked for, _Rowland Moors Inc._, had a contract to add a new section to a local high school that would include six new classrooms, a new science lab, an extra pair of restrooms, and 87 new lockers aligning the walls. It wasn't the most exhausting job Zack had ever had, but problems like inclement weather, accidents, miscalculations, and shortness of staff sometimes rendered progress at a standstill.

Zack shrugged. "It's coming."

"You guys have been working on that for months."

"Two months," Zack said defensively, "which really isn't all that bad considering the bullshit we've had to put up with."

"What kind of bullshit?" Cody hadn't really been paying attention to his brother's job lately. With final exams on the way and assignments to do that were piled sky-high, he couldn't afford to.

"Oh, you name it," Zack replied. "Just about everything that _could_ go wrong _has _gone wrong. We had to remove a wall and redo it because _somebody_ was off on the measurements…_that _ended up costing an arm and a leg; we were delayed several days because of rain; two of our guys had to be rushed to the emergency room thanks to faulty equipment and incompetence—I swear, the new workers there ain't worth jack; we've had complaints, arguments…"

"What were the complaints about?"

"Various things. Some of the teachers have been complaining about the noise, as if we can actually _help_ that. One of the school administrators said he didn't like the size of one of the classrooms, even though it was the size we'd agree upon. And this other guy—I think he was the janitor—told us he was pissed off that we weren't putting in a new supply closet. It's just been…endless."

"Damn!" Cody exclaimed. "Sorry about that, man. That sucks."

"You know what the sad thing is?" Zack said. "That school doesn't even _need_ a new section. It got one just two years ago."

"Then why are they putting one in?"

Zack shrugged again. "I don't know," he said nonchalantly. "The government needs to spend our tax money on something. I guess spending it on schools makes them feel good about themselves."

Cody nodded in acknowledgement. He yawned.

"Hey, thanks for cooking dinner tonight buddy," Zack told him, suddenly feeling a little guilty.

"No problem," Cody returned with a minor smile. "But remember, _you're _doing the dishes."

"I know, I know."

There was a pause.

"You gonna get up?" Cody asked.

"Yeah, in a minute. God, I'm so tired."

"You and me both. But the sooner you get done, the faster you can get to bed. And just think, tomorrow you're off."

"Hallelujah."

Cody chuckled but his eyes were laced with worry as his brother forced himself up from the table with a groan and began to pick up their dirty plates. For a guy who was just twenty-two, Zack looked like an old man. He walked slowly, measuring each step, and his eyelids drooped as though he couldn't keep them up.

Cody felt so much sympathy for his brother. College was one thing, but the work Zack did was something else entirely. While college was strenuous on the brain, which in turn could affect the body, Cody made sure to take good care of himself to the best of his ability. Zack, on the other hand, could barely afford to do that. And what he put up with every day was strenuous on the body and the mind, simultaneously.

Once the plates and the silverware were in the sink and Zack was running the water, Cody stood up from the table, went over to the living room section of their suite, and plopped down on the couch.

Zack heard the various sounds from the TV as his brother surfed the channels. "Take years off your appearance with the all-new Tri-Ultra Miracle Cleanse," said a lady advertising the latest de-aging skin cream. Cody clicked the channel button. "Are you one of those people who just can't seem to find enough closet space?" asked a man advertising a closet organizer. Cody clicked again. "Last year, America alone disposed of enough plastic bottles to circle the entire globe," remarked an adamant man, who then went on to say: "Living in a world that is diminishing in natural resources, such waste should not be tolerated. That is why I present to you a ground-breaking means to stay green, without going out of your way…" Cody clicked. He'd seen that commercial a hundred times before; all it really was was a DVD hosted by a man who claimed he had all the answers for why people didn't recycle like they should and who offered simple, already-known ways to help the environment. Cody had once looked it up on the Internet out of curiosity and found that it was nothing ground-breaking at all. Just a money-making scheme.

Eventually Cody began going to specific channels by punching in their numbers on the remote. He stopped when he tried TNT. _A Few Good Men _was on. He used to love that movie. Jack Nicolson's acting was superb, and Tom Cruise wasn't bad either (though he'd never been the biggest Tom Cruise fan).

Cody started to watch it. Zack finished doing dishes and decided to go straight to bed. He stole a quick glance at the TV screen to see what was on, but then disappeared into their bathroom and started brushing his teeth.

Cody heard the short, hurried strokes of his toothbrush from out on the couch. _Poor guy_, he thought. _He goes through so much._

Almost instantly, his mind was thrown back to the year previously—when everything had changed, when their brotherhood had been compromised, when he'd made a self discovery that had altered the very foundation on which he'd known himself, when he'd broken his brother's heart, twice, and betrayed his trust. When he'd reached the end of his rope and realized he had to begin again.

Accompanying those irrefutable thoughts was the here and now—that is, where it all had led to so far. His life was fairly normal; he was continuing his college education (albeit at a different college than he initially had chosen) and the rest of his family was carrying on with their lives. On the outside, most everything had gone back to the way it was before. But only on the outside.

The inside was a different matter. Underneath some of his smiles was a twinge of guilt—guilt at the whole prospect of smiling, because he often thought he didn't deserve to. And what was infinitely worse than that he could feel that some of Zack's smiles were not genuine either. Sometimes he feigned them. It was easy to tell when he did. There was no light in his eyes, and there was a tiny, yet noticeable, quiver of his lips as they pulled upward, which made him look as though he was struggling not to cry.

Cody couldn't deny that he was worried about Zack. Sometimes he acted like two separate people—two independent identities living within one body. He'd be his usual self one minute and then a complete stranger the next. All at the drop of a hat. At the presence of a single thought or feeling.

Cody had cornered him about it once, when Zack had become particularly crabby one evening after acting happy throughout the rest day. "What's your problem?" he'd asked. "Why do you have these mood swings all the sudden? You _never_ used to be like this." In the past, Zack would only get angry when something or someone had pissed him off. And usually Cody was the first to know the details. But that was not the case now; this was something totally new. "What is this?" Cody had implored. "A phase?"

Zack hadn't given him a proper answer. He'd simply shot back a moody retort: "I just feel like being pissed right now, _okay_? Jesus, I was fucking dandy earlier. Can't I have a moment to be pissed? Don't I still have the right to get pissed every now and then? God, Cody, what the hell do you want from me?"

Cody had apologized and let it go, but that didn't stop him from being concerned. What was up with Zack? If it had only happened once, he would have passed it off as a one-time thing. But it had happened several times, under various circumstances.

And what really frightened Cody—what he sensed with every bone in his body—was that it was directly connected to what he now called "That Day." As in, the day he'd picked up Zack's .45-caliber and tried to off himself. He knew Zack wouldn't tell him what the deal was so he constantly refrained from asking, but still…the idea that it was his fault haunted him.

Cody was a little over half-way through the movie before he realized he'd lost interest in it. When he brought his attention back to it, he saw that it was at a scene he'd forgotten about since the last time he'd watched it: Tom Cruise and Demi Moore were sitting across from each other at a restaurant, eating sea food and disagreeing on whether or not they were going to win their court case. Afterwards it cut to the military courtroom, where a marine by the name of Owen Barnes (or something of the like) was giving his testimony. Cody immediately thought about his own court case and again changed the channel. He now went to FX, which was playing a horror movie he'd never even heard of before.

He hoped it would get him distracted, but unfortunately it did just the opposite. Within moments, he'd totally drowned out the visuals and sounds of the TV and reverted back to his thoughts on his on-going lawsuit. It had officially started two months after he'd been released from Fairoaks and it was even worse than he'd imagined it would be. What started as a lawsuit that was intended to take a few months to settle had turned into a full-blown trial that would last for well over a year.

_Those damn lawyers just can't leave well enough alone, can they?_

_Of course not. Money talks to them. The longer the case, the more doe-ray-me they get to salvage. _

_Dirty-ass crooks. _

He'd been the first to take the stand. He'd given the judge a detailed rendition of what had happened on the day he was sedated, mentioning both his talk with Dr. Maps beforehand and his experience at the hospital. He didn't tell everything. Some things he left out—like the light he saw while lying on the hospital bed with the tubes in him, and the feeling of flying, and the fear of falling down into the dark abyss below, where he knew the cat was waiting for him. Needless to say, he didn't talk about any of that. Only the things that made sense in the world of logic—the world where lights had an explanation and strange feelings were the result of chemical secretions in the brain. He relived only the things that other people could verify.

Following his testimony was Jenny's, who told the judge everything as well. Her story and his matched each other perfectly.

After her was Dr. Maps, who was questioned about all his encounters with Cody. Both medical-related and not. He told about presiding over Cody's heart surgery, pointing out that Cody had initially flat-lined and was pronounced dead; he told about how he'd drained the Thorazine from Cody's body the second time he was rushed to the hospital, and then later met with his parents and explained the situation. He also told about his practice in general—how long he'd been a doctor, his educational background, the types of patients he typically received, etc. His testimony ended up being the longest.

Zack took the stand next and had to tell the judge about his arrest after trying to raise hell on the workers at Fairoaks. He promised that he hadn't been thinking straight at the time due to what had happened to Cody, and that he'd never planned to kill anybody (which were both true).

He was asked about Cody' attempted suicide, which was the last thing he gave testimony to. He made sure to mention at the end that Cody had reformed himself and was doing better.

The final person to take the stand was the male nurse from Fairoaks. His name, come to find out, was Ted Benson.

He had a lawyer; one by the name of Samuel Warren had been appointed to him by the court.

Cody had one too, and her name was Erin Kyle.

Cody didn't _want _one. The only reason he accepted one was because he was warned, time and time again, that not having a lawyer in a situation like this was unwise. He needed one because the situation was blowing out of proportion. Fairoaks was determined to make themselves look good to the public. They were liable to get sued so the best thing for them to do was fire Ted (which they did), point fingers at him, and try to make themselves look like victims by siding with Cody and urging him to "receive his deserved payment."

Plus, the lawsuit with Dr. Thompson—which had ended months beforehand—had put their name in the papers numerous times and had given them a bad reputation with the outside world. This was their chance to redeem themselves. If they formed any kind of an alliance with Cody, they could regain some measure of favor.

But in order for that to happen, Ted Benson had to fall.

It was all nonsense. Cody wasn't the least bit interested in punishing Ted Benson. Granted, he didn't have any warm feelings towards the guy. Quite the contrary. But if it hadn't been for his misdoing, he would not have gotten out of Fairoaks in the first place.

The charge was disorderly conduct and negligence. The prosecution had originally pushed for attempted murder, but that didn't fall through since Ted Benson clearly did not attempt to murder Cody. They also tried for voluntary manslaughter but that didn't work either because Cody wasn't dead. "Disorderly conduct," declared Judge Turpin, "includes _any_ action that disturbs the peace, deviates from progress, or causes some form of harm to someone else. I believe that and negligence cover this case in full."

Cody was pleased. The whole thing was bad enough.

Ted Benson's lawyer, Warren, had heavily stressed Ted's nicotine addiction, claiming that he too had once "been a slave to the compulsive habit of smoking." It renders your reasoning skills useless, he argued, and transforms you from a level-headed, rational person into an irresponsible fool.

And as if that weren't adequate, he added (seeing that he wasn't convincing anyone), his smoking habit was amplified ten-fold due to his recent divorce and custody battle over his three-year-old daughter. Evidence was sought on that assertion and it was proven to be true. A divorce had been finalized as of six months previously between Ted Benson and his former wife Anya in which they had engaged in a "vicious" long-term dispute over who was to keep their daughter Misty.

Primary custody had been granted to Anya and Ted got the house.

"After she left," Ted said of Anya, "and took Misty with her, I felt like the world had ended. I didn't know what to do with myself. I tried burying myself in my work but that just made me feel worse, so I started smoking excessively."

That was no excuse, intone Kyle, for what he did to Cody.

Ted Benson had already acknowledged that. He'd pleaded guilty at the very beginning of the trial.

"Mr. Benson, have you ever tried to quit smoking?" Kyle asked accusingly, her hands behind her back, her shoulders straight and stiff like a Nazi.

_What does that have to do with anything? _Cody had wondered.

Ted Benson nodded. "Yes, but it didn't go as planned."

"Mind explaining that further?"

"Well, I—I went on Chantix for a while, but it made me sick so I tried replacing cigarettes with gum. When that didn't work either, I went to a special doctor that a friend recommended me to—a hypnotist, that is—and I had him help me. I managed to stop smoking for a while, but then Anya and I filed for a divorce and I couldn't take the stress, so I started up again. And as the divorce went on, it got worse."

"Now at the time of the incident you and your wife were already officially divorced, were you not?"

"Yes, we were. But my habit didn't decrease. It was out of control by then."

"Just how much were you smoking, Mr. Benson?"

"At the time of the incident? About a pack a day."

"That's quite a bit, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes."

"Do you still smoke that much?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

A pause. Cody saw a hint of a smile on Kyle's face. "Mr. Benson, you have a three-year-old daughter," she said. "Do you acknowledge her need to be raised in a healthy environment?"

"Of course."

"Does she ever spend time at your house?"

"Yeah, every other weekend."

"Wouldn't you say that's rather dangerous, given your habit? Being in the vicinity of a father who smokes a pack of cigarettes every twenty-four hours is hardly healthy…especially for a _three-year-old_."

"Objection!" Warren hollered, rising from his desk. He looked toward the judge. "Your Honor, that was a leading question."

"I'll rephrase that, Your Honor," Kyle amended, clearly wanting to cover her own ass. She repeated the question differently: "Mr. Benson, would you or would you not consider it imprudent to have a three-year-old child in the close proximity of an adult who smokes a pack of cigarettes per day?"

_She's hitting him where he lives. Bitch. For God's sake, condemn him for almost killing me but leave his child out of it. She has nothing—NOTHING—to do with this._

Mr. Benson said nothing.

"Mr. Benson, please answer the attorney's question," ordered Judge Turpin.

"Yes…perhaps," Ted Benson replied, his voice indicating sadness.

"So you admit you're an irresponsible father." Wham. Just like that. Right in the heart.

"Your Honor!" Warren complained, rising from his seat a second time.

"I withdraw that statement, with apologies," Kyle said. But it didn't matter. The damage had already been done…just as she had intended. "Let me ask you this, Mr. Benson," she went on. "If a man is irresponsible at home, for whatever reason, is it not possible that he could demonstrate that same irresponsibility in the workplace?"

"Listen!" Ted exclaimed, desperately trying to reach for a severed thread. "I love Misty. I'd never do _anything_ to hurt her. This is ridiculous! This has _nothing_ to do—"

"Just answer yes or no, Mr. Benson," Kyle urged, her eyes gazing into his with a piercing ferocity.

Ted was helpless. He glanced at the judge, who responded by giving him a serious look, and then sighed. He knew now where Kyle was going with this; she'd backed him into a corner. A small corner, but a solid corner nonetheless. "Yes," he muttered. "I suppose so."

Kyle slightly turned her delicate head and cupped her hand behind her ear. "What was that?"

"I said _yes_!"

Kyle beamed in satisfaction and then turned to face the judge. Mr. Benson had admitted to being an irresponsible man, she remarked. And his irresponsibility was a burden to those around him. As was supported by his sedating Cody without good reason.

_Typical lawyer move, _thought Cody_. You give them an inch and they stretch it. _

After Kyle sat back down, Warren got up and began questioning him. Asking him about Cody's fight with Mr. Willner right before the sedation. "Mr. Benson, you claimed you sedated Cody because you saw him fighting with your client, Jeff Willner. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct," Ted answered. "But I did not see the whole fight. Just the end."

"I see. And can you describe the end of the fight as you saw it?"

"Mr. Willner was on his knees. Cody Martin had him by the collar of his shirt—squeezing the life out of him. Mr. Willner managed to pry his hands away and stand up. When he turned to face Cody, Cody kicked him in the shin. Hard."

Warren nodded.

Cody felt the urge to defend himself. He bit his lip to keep himself quiet.

"Did you ever find out what caused the fight?" Warren persisted.

"Not until after the sedation," Ted Benson clarified. "My client, Mr. Willner, sexually assaulted Jenny Kroft. Cody was trying to help her."

On and on it went. For hours.

The last one to question Ted Benson had been Kyle, who'd practically called him (in her clever, subtle way) a deranged maniac…for being negligent.

Granted, negligence called for reprimand. But a deranged maniac? Fuck no!

On the living room couch, Cody felt his blood boil. Ted Benson had his downfalls, but Erin Kyle was _far _worse. Perhaps it was the fact that Ted had gotten him out of Fairoaks, but to Cody he didn't seem like that bad of a person. He'd pleaded guilty. The best he could hope for at this point was a shitload of community service, which was unlikely due to the charges against him.

He was going down. The question was how badly.

As far as Kyle was concerned, he could have been Ted Bundy reincarnate (it was a total coincidence that their names sounded similar). Cody couldn't stand her. He knew hate was a strong word, but he felt justified in using it to describe his feelings about her. She was a liar. A twister of words.

Just like Dr. Thompson had been…before he'd gotten his comeuppance.

Cody met with Kyle once every two weeks: every other Thursday, to discuss the case. She never fully explained her plans (she was sneaky that way), but she always assured him that "there would be hell to pay for Benson."

It was actually funny that she said that because _she_ was the only one _getting_ paid in all of this.

Cody had been tempted to ask her, _So what does that make you? The Devil? _Though he'd refrained.

He brought himself out of his thoughts. The TV was still going. The horror movie was nearing its end; a blonde girl with big breasts and thin legs was crouched in the corner of a warehouse, her hands covering her mouth as she prayed that the serial killer lurking around wouldn't find her.

Cody grabbed the remote and turned it off. He needed to go to bed. He was exhausted.

Zack was already asleep when he entered the bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter 2. I was going to wait until sometime next week to post it, but college is going to be driving me crazy then so I decided I'd go ahead and get it up now. The beginning might be a little weird but bear with it. I promise, there's a perfectly logical explanation. :) It's not as long as I had planned for it to be but that's because there's a lengthy conversation coming up that I wanted to save for chapter 3. ;)**

**This chapter marks the return of a certain OC from **_**Boy, Disrupted**_**…and there will be more of this character later on. Have fun reading. **

**As always, reviews are more than welcome. ;)**

Zack had no idea how, but shortly after dozing off he found himself at work. He wasn't at his actually job site; he was somewhere else. A place he'd never seen before. But he knew, somehow—on some level—that it was a place where he was supposed to work.

He was surrounded by rubble. There was waste and wreckage of all sorts at his feet—bricks, crumbled papers, empty cups, oil, splintered wood, and jagged rocks. The air was coated with a thick, gray fog. He could feel it engulfing him; he knew it was dust. Specks of it flecked his face and arms. He looked around, trying to form a mental picture of where he was, but he couldn't see past the dense haze.

Everything was quiet. Everything was still.

Zack felt a flutter in his belly. Something was terribly wrong.

He called out to the emptiness: "Hello?"

Nothing came back except his own echo.

He began to walk. He could scarcely see through the dust cloud but he concentrated on his feet, stepping over and around the obstacles that lined his path. He had to get out of here. He didn't belong here.

He walked for what seemed like a good half-hour. The debris and fog eventually cleared, revealing to him a long, straight, paved road that started in the middle of nowhere and went on for as far as the eye could see. He felt compelled to follow it.

Suddenly, he heard something approaching him from behind. It sounded like boots colliding with a hard surface, but he wasn't sure so he turned around and quickly assumed a defensive position.

It was his boss, Mr. Hayman, who emerged from the fog, carrying a drill gun and looking at him with a puzzled expression. "What are you doing here, Zack?" he asked.

"I…don't know," Zack answered. He shifted his gaze between Mr. Hayman and the inviting road.

Mr. Hayman took a quick glance at the road and huffed. "You best get to work," he said. "You'll be late. Don't wanna be late, do you? You're too good for that." He handed him the drill gun. "Come on, best get working."

Zack took the drill gun and eyed it with confusion. "Um, what am I supposed to do?"

Mr. Hayman appeared as though he'd been asked what color the sky was. "Build!" he said matter-of-factly. "You're a natural-born builder, Zack. There ain't nothing you can't fix."

Zack wanted to say "thank you," but for some strange reason he couldn't. The words wouldn't come out. "What am I supposed to build, sir?" he questioned. "I don't have any blueprints."

"Well, you better go get them."

Zack stared at him blankly, flabbergasted. Oddly, this felt like déjà-vu.

Mr. Hayman waved his arm at him as though telling a dog to "git." "Go on now," he demanded. "Go get them blueprints."

Zack looked from him to the drill gun and then back again. All he wanted to do was leave—to get out of this place and go down the road, where he now could faintly see the rim of the sun peeking over the horizon. He set the drill gun on the ground, not wanting to take it with him, and began strolling in that direction.

He walked a good fifteen minutes or so before the robin's egg blue sky overhead was suddenly taken over by a dark gray cloud—a storm cloud that came out of nowhere, seizing the rising sunlight that had before signified hope to him and turning it into a vision of dreariness and trepidation.

He grew nervous. Suppose it began to rain? What then? There was no shelter anywhere. He could freeze to death. There was a chill coming; he hunched his shoulders and wrapped himself up in his arms to shield himself from the draft. He shivered, beginning to doubt whether going down this road had been such a good idea at all.

_Maybe I should have stayed with Mr. Hayman. _

_Of course I should have. What was I thinking? _

Suddenly he came across something peculiar: an open manhole right in the middle of the road, with no lid anywhere in site. He stared at it in bewilderment, then gradually leaned over and peered inside. It went too far down for him to see much but he could discern the first few rungs of a thin, metal ladder that led into its pitch black shaft...which appeared foreboding to say the least.

Yet under some unknown grounds, he _wanted _to go down there. He sensed in his gut that, for whatever reason, he had to. There was something down there he had to do—something imperative that he could not ignore.

He figured someone had gone down earlier and wondered if they had not come back up. He bent down further, shouting into it as loud as his voice would allow: "Is anyone down there?" And right then, he heard something—a muffled, feathery sound that came in ephemeral spurts from deep within its interior. Very faint at first, but continually growing louder until Zack knew what they were and could not mistake them: Cody's sobs.

Cody was down there. And he was crying.

Zack's stomach constricted. His brother needed him. He had to get down there, and fast. Almost immediately, he was half-way submerged within the manhole, his feet planted on a metal rung somewhere below and his hands gripping the one at the top. Step by step, he descended. Moving quickly but not too quickly. Maintaining speed without being careless (he wouldn't be any use to Cody if he fell and broke his neck.)

As soon as he stepped off the last rung and was firmly on the underground floor, he turned around and was struck dumb by what met his eyes: before him was, what appeared to be, a stone hallway—nothing like the maintenance tunnels he would have expected. But he couldn't afford to pay attention to strange inconsistencies; his brother was in trouble.

He began sprinting down the hallway. It was dark, dank, and smelly. The walls looked as if they were coated with soot and there were murky puddles of water lying underfoot. He accidently stepped in a few of them; in just a few seconds, the bottoms of his jeans were soaked.

Eventually, Cody's sobs faded away and were replaced by silence—a silence that made Zack's heart throb with worry. "Cody?" he called out. Cody had to be okay. He just _had_ to be. _Please, please answer me. _

Thankfully, there was a reply: "Zack!" It was Cody's voice, terrified. "Zack, help me!"

"I'm coming buddy!" Zack responded desperately. "Hang on!"

"Hurry!"

Zack sped up. His legs and side pulsated with pain but he pushed himself forward. There was a voice in his head that begged him to turn back. "You can't do anything," it said, "except build. You don't belong down here. This place is not for you. You belong up there, in the light. Go back up there. Go back up to where you belong."

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not until he knew Cody was safe.

_My brother needs me. I'm not leaving here until I find him. _

Finally, he came upon a door. He almost sighed with relief, but that relief immediately vanished when he realized, upon coming closer, that it was bolted shut. Zack flung himself against it, crying Cody's name, and knowing—even without any response—that his twin brother was in there, and that there was nothing he could do to help him.

"Cody, man, I'm right here! I'm at the door. Don't panic! I'm not leaving you. Just tell me that you're okay."

There was no answer.

"Cody…?"

Still no answer.

"Cody, please…"

Another moment of silence…followed by the abrupt roar of a gunshot coming from within the room.

Zack's heart broke. He Screamed: "CODY!"

Then he slid to the floor, reduced to a sniveling lump of despair leaning against the impenetrable door.

When he woke up on his bed at the Tipton hotel, he had tears in his eyes. Frantically, he wiped them away and turned to glance at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to the head of his bed. It was 4:32 in the morning. He sat up and looked over towards Cody's bed, feeling a surge of relief at the sight of his brother curled up in his blankets, fast asleep.

He laid back down and exhaled. _Another nightmare_!he thought. _Will I ever have a night of undisturbed sleep?_

…

Morning came in a flash. Cody was up at 8 o'clock and began making breakfast. He was greeted by his parents, who'd returned from their outing the night before while he was asleep and who both said they had to run; his mother had a show and his father had to begin his rock star tour with his fellow band mates. Cody asked them if they wanted to eat anything, to which they both declined. "I'll get something from downstairs," said Carey, who'd recently been given an extra employee discount on meals.

"The guys and I are going to stop off somewhere along the way," added Kurt, who was already getting ready to leave.

So that just left breakfast for Cody and his brother Zack. In a way he was grateful; it meant less pancakes to make.

By the time Zack came stumbling out of their bedroom at 10:15, there was already a stack of them waiting on the kitchen table, complete with plates and silverware, a bar of butter, and a bottle of maple syrup. "Hey Zack," said Cody as he was leaning over the stove to turn it off. "Sleep well?"

"Sort of," Zack lied. He looked around, taking notice that neither his mother nor his father were anywhere in sight. "Did Mom and Dad ever come home last night?"

"Yeah, they did, when you and I were already asleep. Mom's down in the lounge and Dad got picked up by the band about an hour ago."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Zack questioned in a somewhat snappish tone. He felt guilty about not saying good-bye to his father. He'd be gone for several weeks—perhaps even a month—and now the only way to contact him was by phone.

"I was going to," Cody amended, "but I thought you could use more sleep." He could tell that his brother was disappointed, so he continued by saying, "it's not that big of a deal. Dad's been gone before. You can still call him. Besides, with how fast time flies, it won't be too long before he comes back."

That didn't make Zack feel any better, but it didn't do him any good to stay frustrated so he let it go and took a seat at the kitchen table where a plate, a butter knife, and a fork were set. "Thanks for this," he remarked. "But you know, you don't have to take care of me. A bowl of cereal would have been fine."

"Are you kidding? With me in college all week, you eat enough cereal as it is." Cody walked from the stove to the refrigerator and opened it. "Hey, do you want milk or orange juice?" he asked, peering inside.

"Uh, orange juice." Realizing that there was no cup for him on the table, Zack stood up to get one.

"What are you doing?" inquired Cody, who had just retrieved the orange juice from the refrigerator and had closed the door.

"Getting myself a cup," Zack answered.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I've got you covered."

"Cody, I—"

"Seriously, Zack," Cody cut him off. "It's okay. I got it."

Reluctantly, Zack sat back down. He couldn't explain why, but he was often aggravated when Cody pampered him like this…which he took to doing on weekends when they were both off and could spend some time together. He rarely used to do it when they were children (except on special occasions), but now—ever since he'd promised to get his life back on track—he seemed to take an interest, a liking even, to treating him like a charge rather than an older brother.

Zack understood perfectly why Cody did it: he was overcompensating—trying to be the ideal brother. And Zack knew he would have done the same if he were in Cody's shoes. Nevertheless, it had the tendency to drive him mad.

Cody got him a cup from the overhead cabinet, poured it to the top with orange juice, and then set it down next to Zack's plate. Zack thanked him and started to eat.

Cody sat opposite of him and started to eat too.

They ate in silence for a while…until Zack couldn't take it anymore. He always hated awkward silences, and now was no exception. "I'm so glad it's the weekend," he said simply, after gulping down some orange juice.

Cody swallowed the pancake in his mouth and responded with, "Me too."

"I think I'm going to play some videogames after this." Zack hadn't been a regular gamer in months. He'd been meaning to get back into the habit of it again (if anything, it kept his mind pleasantly occupied), but with work, the trial, and dealing with what had happened the year previously, he'd never found the chance to.

"That sounds good," Cody encouraged. "You know, speaking of games, I heard they just released _Medieval Magic Quest 3. _Have you ever considered getting into that?"

"Shit," Zack answered, "I haven't even beaten the second one."

Cody grimaced. His brother had changed so much, and sometimes he didn't like it; it scared him. He wanted the old Zack back. _Will I ever see him again? Does he still exist?_

_Yes, he has to. But…where is he?_

"Just out of curiosity, where did you hear that?"

Zack's question threw Cody out of his inner trance. "Mr. Moseby came by and told me," he confessed. "Seemed pretty excited about it too."

"No surprise there."

Cody had to smile a little at that. That silly _Medieval Magic Quest_ saga had been a bonding ground between Zack and Mr. Moseby—a treaty of sorts, between the hotel rule-maker and the hotel rule-breaker. "He was hoping 'Multak Firewind' could help 'Jango Darkblade' stop the dragons from taking control over the world...or something of that nature."

Zack laughed. _Moseby, Moseby, Moseby… _"Sounds like a fun way to spend a Saturday morning." He scooped up another bite of pancake and forced it in his mouth.

Cody did the same.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "I'll get it," Cody announced once he'd swallowed his food. Before Zack could utter a word, he was already on his feet and bolting towards the door. He opened it after the first knock.

"Hi Jenny," he said to the visitor.

Zack turned in his chair to face her. Jenny was dressed casually, in jeans, a white V-neck shirt, and a maroon corduroy jacket, her blonde hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail. Her eyes were tired and saggy, yet she managed to look radiant.

"Hey Cody," she returned, and then took notice of Zack and waved at him. "Hey Zack."

Zack waved back. "Hey Jenny," he replied. "What brings you here?"

"Wanted to see how you guys have been doing." She turned her attention back to Cody. "How's college?"

"The usual," Cody answered. "A pain in the ass, but I'm surviving."

"I hear you. My job's been the same way. And the 'you know what' hasn't been helping." Jenny and Cody had made a private oath to themselves not to mention the trial to each other during their visits. It was stressful enough to deal with in the courtroom (and for Cody, once every two weeks with his lawyer), so neither of them saw fit to dwell on it in their personal, outside lives.

Cody nodded, knowing full well what she was referring to by "you know what," but he didn't comment on that. Instead, he commented on her job: "Nursing homes just aren't your forte, are they?"

"Nope. But you know, where I am now is better than where I was."

Cody nodded again; he couldn't argue with that. Just about any job was better than Fairoaks.

Jenny shifted her focus towards Zack, who was now in the midst of finishing his breakfast. "So, what's he been up to?" she wondered of him.

"Work," Cody told her.

"Yeah," Zack agreed. "Story of my life. Reduced to one word—work."

"Hey, don't worry, I know how you feel," Jenny assured him. "My boss at the nursing home is a real hard ass sometimes. Lately she's been making me cover everyone else's shift cause the workers there are just _so _reliable." She rolled her eyes.

"That hardly seems fair," Cody remarked.

"Tell me about it. The worst is night shift—God, I hate that! The place is open twenty-four hours a day so I don't get any sleep. And I don't do well when I'm that sleep-deprived."

"Can't you tell your boss that?"

"Oh believe me, I've tried. It doesn't do any good. And the worst part is, the woman who normally works night shift won't be coming back for months because she's on maternity leave."

"Crap."

"Yeah, really."

There was a pause between them—a pause that Cody finally broke: "So I take it you're here to go for another walk?"

"Well yeah, I mean, if that's alright with you," Jenny confirmed. "But, you know, if you have too much stuff to do, that's fine. I understand perfectly. Being in college, I'm sure you never catch a break."

Cody was somewhat conflicted. He couldn't deny that a walk with Jenny sounded nice; he'd been missing her presence and her conversations for a while. But at the same time, he'd had it in mind to study more that day and work on his psychology paper. "Uh…yeah, I don't think I can today, Jenny," he muttered. "I got too much school work to do."

From behind him, he heard Zack snort. "Cody, man, you sacrifice enough for school as it is. If you're not careful your brain's gonna explode. You go ahead and get some fresh air. All your books and stuff will still be here when you get back."

Cody was hesitant, but when he saw the look in Jenny's eyes—the look that would have said "please" if it could talk—he was sold. "Okay," he said, "just let me get my shoes on."

Once Cody had put on a pair of shoes—old tennis shoes that he used for walking—he and Jenny headed out the door. They decided to walk around the outskirts of Liberty Park, not far from the Tipton, and to be gone for about an hour; Cody didn't want to be gone longer since he still had so much to do.

Before leaving, he grabbed his cell phone. "If you need me, call," he told Zack, pulling the door shut behind him as he stepped over the threshold.

"Okie dokie," Zack agreed.

Then Cody and Jenny were gone and Zack was alone.

_What should I do first? _He pondered. Instinct said "go back to bed" but he figured that would be useless given the dreams he'd been having.

He remembered Mr. Moseby's offer. Some _Medieval Magic Quest_ sounded good, and he had yet to see the third installment. _I think I'll go downstairs and pay Mr. Moseby a friendly visit. He should be pleased. _

Right as he was moving towards the door, a thought hit him: Bailey! It'd been weeks since he'd contacted her. She had made it a habit of emailing him almost daily, and he hadn't checked his emails in what felt like eons. _She's probably wondered what the heck happened to me. _

He didn't know what made him suddenly remember her like that—perhaps the presence of Jenny somehow initiated it—but as soon as she crossed his mind, he wanted to communicate with her. So he went back into his and Cody's room, took out his laptop (which he kept on the counter next to his alarm clock), sat down on his bed, opened up the Internet, and checked his emails.

Just as he had expected, there were several from Bailey.

From March 27th:

_Hey Zack,_

_How have you been? How's work? I know I keep asking you that, but I can't help myself. I'm genuinely curious as to how you're doing. If you're wondering, I'm doing good. I'm moving on. Farm life has been keeping me pleasantly occupied, and so has college. They both have me on my toes. _

_One of our cows had a calf yesterday and it's just the cutest thing. My sisters and I have been taking turns playing with it. Planting season's started so I've practically been living on our tractor. It's fun though. I love it tremendously. Boston was beautiful but I'd never give up my life on the farm. _

_Speaking of Boston, though, I do miss it. It was so nice to see you, and Cody, and Mr. Moseby, and London…even if the reason I came there in the first place wasn't nice. At least some good came of it. That's what I keep telling myself—that there's a bright side to it. There has to be. As far as I'm concerned, seeing you guys again was that bright side. _

_Take care (of each other),_

_Bailey_

From March 29th:

_Hey Zack,_

_So I see you haven't replied to my last email. That's okay. Don't sweat it. I understand you're probably swamped with work (Cody hasn't sent me a reply either). I just thought I'd send you this email to let you know that I'm still thinking of you guys. I hope you're all happy and healthy. I hope things between you and Cody are going smoothly, and that your parents are coping well. By the way, how's the trial coming along? Can you give me any details on that?_

_Farming's still good. I've been plowing away for the last two hours. _

_Keep safe,_

_Bailey_

From April 2nd:

_Hey Zack,_

_How was April Fool's Day for you? Did you play any good pranks on your brother? Or on Mr. Moseby? For me it was fantastic! I added some jalapeno peppers to my sisters' sandwiches at lunchtime, and you should have seen their faces! It was hilarious. Of course, I apologized for it afterwards, but it still made my day. _

_It's probably lame from your perspective. I admit, I was inspired by London. Remember that "Boo You" incident I told you about? Well, the whole online embarrassment thing wasn't fun but I've got to hand it to her—it was a pretty damn good prank. _

_Anyway, still thinking about you guys. _

_Email me whenever you can,_

_Bailey_

From April 4th:

_Hi Zack,_

_I see you still haven't replied. Busy? I suspect so. Cody still hasn't replied either. You guys alright? (You know I'm going to ask that). Things are pretty good here. My youngest sister twisted her ankle earlier today. She and my other two younger sisters were playing tag out in the field and somehow she stepped down wrong and her ankle started to throb. It's bandaged up now, and she's sitting on the living room couch looking at magazines._

_So, how's the court case? Anything new with it? Any ideas as to how or when it's going to end? _

_I have a project due in a few days—a college project, that is. So I won't be able to email you for a while. But I think that's a good thing. It'll give you and Cody a chance to catch up. _

_Looking forward to some replies!_

_Bailey_

From April 10th:

_Zack,_

_Are you guys okay? Did something happen? I'm sorry if I sound paranoid but it's been six days and I still haven't received a reply from you (either of you!) _

_Is it the trial? Is it something personal? Is Cody okay?_

_Sorry for sounding scared, but I hope you understand._

_Please email me back,_

_Bailey_

Zack skimmed over the next few emails, as they transformed from concerned inquiries to outright nervous rants. The last one, dated two days previously (April 26th), was merely a one-liner:

_I'm missing you guys, so much. _

Zack felt shame erupt in his gut. He hadn't meant to ignore Bailey for so long, especially after she'd been so faithful to staying in touch with him. He'd been in a constant state of stress and exhaustion, never able to concentrate on anything except necessities.

He had a great deal on his shoulders. But then again, so did Bailey. Farming life was demanding, and she was in college like Cody.

He took special notice of her shorter emails because they said more than the longer ones. They practically screamed "Worried!" whereas the longer ones chuckled or shrugged casually. The new Zack was itching to take the driver's seat at her mentions of their court case, but the old Zack managed to take power over him as he knew that Bailey was only concerned.

He wanted to reply to each and every message, saying that he was sorry for being negligent and that he was still doing well, but he lacked the energy for that. So instead, he sent her one message. One long message:

_Dear Bailey,_

_I think I should start by apologizing, so I will: I'm sorry for taking so long to reply. It's not just that I've been busy. I've been a lot of things: demotivated, tired, anxious, pressured, even jaded. And that's just scratching the surface. Lately I've been feeling like everything and everyone is trying to split me into pieces, and I'm desperately trying to hold myself together. I guess hectic is the right word to describe it. _

_Work has been fine. A little slow, but you know how construction can be. We've had lots of issues to deal with so progress has been slower than we'd like it to be, but we're toughing it. Complaints have been a bitch though. Some people have been whining and crying about things we can't help, or things they changed their minds about, and it can be so discouraging to us. But it's something we have to deal with._

_Cody is good. He's pretty much his usual self—only less energetic. Harvard almost has him climbing the walls with stress. But that comes with the territory. He's happier overall, and that's the important thing. He understands his faults and I can tell he wants to fix them. He's healing. _

_It's been a rocky road though, and the court case has not been helping matters at all. Even though I'm pissed at the nurse guy for almost killing him _(Zack cringed as he typed the word "killing"), _I'm even more pissed that Cody has to relive it. It's not doing him any good. Just the opposite. You should have seen him when he took the stand and testified; he was a nervous wreck—not because he had anything to hide but because he didn't want to bring up that shit. Personally, Cody and I both would rather just let it go and let bygones be bygones. But…what can I say? This stupid case was destined to happen. The law has to uphold its regulations. Not that I blame it really, but I my brother's mental well-being is far more important to me. _

_I had to testify too. They asked me about my arrest and I had to give a detailed explanation of what I did at Fairoaks. I didn't like bringing that up either, but I had to. The lawyer who questioned me (his name is Warren, btw) asked me if I thought I'd done the right thing. I knew he was trying to get me to trip up, and we both knew that I had sworn to tell the truth. So I looked at him and said, "No. But with all due respect, I'm a big brother. I can't always afford to do the right thing." It probably wasn't wise to say that, but I was provoked at that point. The sad thing is: I'm sure most anybody—including that lawyer—would have done the exact same thing had they been in my position. Though of course, they can't admit that._

_I'm glad everything is going so well for you. Sorry to scare you there. I promise, nothing bad has happened (unless you want to count the court case as something bad). Cody and I are pulling through, and so is everyone else. I've thought about you a lot, and I'm sure Cody has too. We've just had so much to deal with the last couple of weeks so we couldn't email you. _

_But please don't worry. We're okay. _

_I miss you too,_

_Zack_

He thought for a moment about whether or not he should add anything. There was so much he hadn't discussed that drew his curiosity. He wondered if she still thought about their kiss, and if she was still confused about her feelings for him. He wondered also if she ever contemplated the irony of kissing both him and his brother, and enjoying it, but at different times and under different circumstances.

He wondered, but ultimately decided not to ask.

He hit the "Send" button and heaved a sigh of relief.

_Now, _he thought, _for some medieval magic time!_


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is pretty much just one big conversation; though, mind you, it's an important conversation. Many things revealed here will be addressed further in the story. Later on, you may even want to come back to this chapter. Cody's at a stage where he's looking back on his life and questioning everything, which is common for reformed suicidal people. I don't want readers to think he's become whiny, or inconsiderate. He's just trying to figure things out. **

**There are some references from SLOZAC in this chapter—most of which is pretty blatant and straightforward, but there's one hidden line that references one of the early episodes of SLOZAC. Kudos to whoever finds it! (It's quite difficult to spot.) **

**It contains two major things: 1) information about Jenny, and 2) a message from a certain character who, in **_**Boy, Disrupted**_**, was only mentioned. This mysterious character will have major importance here. :)**

**Enjoy! And please review!**

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was high in the sky and various birds were chirping from treetops off in the distance. Jenny and Cody walked side by side, taking in their surroundings with every stride. Liberty Park was especially lovely during the spring time. The grass was a deep green, peppered with flowers that emitted a variety of fragrances; bees were out and about, buzzing this way and that, pollinating; it was warm out, but not too warm—breezeless and vivid. Immensely comforting, especially to someone who spent most of their time indoors.

Jenny and Cody remained silent for a while, as they gazed around them. Occasionally they'd say "hi" to a dog-walker, or a mother pushing her children in a stroller, or a tourist couple sight-seeing, but for the most part a sense of calm had befallen them and neither wanted to disturb it.

Eventually, though, they did. Jenny figured they should talk since, without Fairoaks as a common ground, they didn't communicate like they used to. "So how are things between you and your brother?" she asked, slipping her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.

"Fine," Cody replied.

"That's it?"

Cody shrugged. "We hardly see each other anymore; he's always at work and I'm always at college. Whenever we're both home we're too tired to do much."

"I saw you had a pretty nice breakfast going on there," she commented. "Pancakes. Let me guess, you made them?" She already knew the answer. Zack hardly ever cooked, except when he absolutely had to.

Cody nodded. "Yeah, I try to do things for him every now and then…when I have the chance."

"That's sweet."

"I don't think he really likes it," Cody admitted, "but I can't help myself."

"Why do you think he doesn't like it?" Jenny furrowed her eyebrows in wonder.

"I dunno. He acts like he thinks I'm putting too much on myself."

"Hmm…" Jenny considered that. "Maybe you are."

Cody looked at her in alarm. _I can't believe you just said that._

Jenny noticed his expression and quickly tried to redeem herself: "I don't mean that in a bad way. A lot of people tend to be too hard on themselves when they regret something they did."

Cody felt a knot in his stomach. He knew precisely what she was referring to…and he did not want to go into that. "Sure," he practically murmured, "I guess."

Jenny seemed to take the hint that he did not want to continue with that conversation, so she respectfully changed it. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Cody agreed, glancing at the natural beauty surrounding him.

"This type of weather is my favorite—not too hot, not too cold. Perfect for a long walk. If only it could stay like this."

She wasn't wrong. It was a particularly lovely day—one of the few comfortably warm days of mid-spring that made heat-hating people wish summer could resemble it.

"Aren't you happy you came out here with me instead of staying cooped up in your suite?"

Her question brought him out of a gentle hypnosis and he looked at her blankly. "What?"

"I said aren't you happy you came out here today…as opposed to staying cooped up inside?"

"Oh, yeah." He had to confess, he did not regret his decision to go for a walk with her.

Just then, as if right on que, he saw two young boys—brothers, with blonde hair and cheap, baggy clothes—playing Frisbee with each other on the wide open field next to where he walked. They weren't the only ones there; accompanying them were other people—families having picnics, children attempting to climb trees, women sunbathing, a group of men sitting in lounge chairs drinking beer—but Cody's eyes stayed on the two brothers, watching them closely. He knew for sure that they were brothers because one said "Nice catch, bro!" to the other. Plus, they shared a strong resemblance.

"Hey, whatcha looking at?" questioned Jenny, noticing that his attention was elsewhere.

When he didn't answer she followed his line of vision. When she, too, saw the two boys she understood completely. "If only things were as simple as they were back then," she stated. "Don't you just miss childhood?"

Cody nodded. He watched as one brother threw the Frisbee at an angle and the other one leapt into the air to catch it. They looked no older than twelve. Thirteen at the most. When the second brother managed to snatch the Frisbee in mid-air, he held it up above his head and gave a victory yell—"Yeah!"—with a prideful grin on his face.

All of a sudden, Cody felt the urge to cry.

There was no reason why he should feel that way, but it didn't matter. His insides filled with emotion and he couldn't hold it at bay. Even though he felt especially embarrassed at the prospect of crying in front of Jenny on their walk together, he couldn't suppress the tears that mercilessly needled the corners of his eyes.

Luckily, Jenny didn't notice.

Cody inhaled a deep breath and released it, averting his eyes away from the two brothers and getting a hold of himself. He focused his vision, instead, on the stretch of sidewalk that lay ahead of them. Eventually, after a silent minute had passed, he braved an honest comment: "I guess I've been a little outta sorts lately."

Jenny seemed to understand. She gave him a "Go on" look, wanting him to continue. To explain himself to her, as any close friend should.

So he did. "I just can't seem to figure anything out anymore," he said. "Everything's so…blurry. So confusing. I just…I don't know what to do."

Jenny didn't speak. Crossing her arms and fixing her gaze at her feet, she kept on walking. Listening. Wanting to hear him out.

"I spent so much time loathing myself—so much time seeing myself only in relation to Zack, and hating the fact that everyone did too. I didn't know who I was—or who I was supposed to be—if not something divided from him. I spent so much time despising myself that…now I don't know how to feel towards myself if not hatred." Cody looked at Jenny imploringly. "You get that?"

Jenny nodded, saying nothing.

Cody took that as a cue to persist: "I guess I'm just lost. I see the world in a new light, but the light is hazy. I'm so uncertain about everything. The thing about self-hate is, you're so certain of everything. You know how to get up in the morning, how to breathe, how to work through your day, how to sleep every night…because you've centered your concentration on that hate, and all you have to do is sit back and watch it grow. Let it take over. That's precisely what I did." Cody sighed, feeling again the impulse to cry but refusing to allow himself. "I turned myself into an illusion, Jenny. An icon of everything I thought I wanted to be—an image of everything I hated—because I hated myself."

Finally, Jenny spoke up: "Yeah, and you came to realize that after you met George. You've already told me." It was true, he had. He'd told her the story of his visit to Fairoaks and his last conversation with George; he'd told her also of his and Zack's drive from George's grave—the sobbing, the hugging, the hurting. He disclosed everything to her. Everything he said, everything he felt. He'd laid it all on the table for Jenny to grasp. And she'd grasped it, willingly.

Cody swallowed down a lump that was steadily forming in the back of his throat. _Don't cry. Breathe, breathe. Don't cry._ "My whole life, I felt like I was never completely alive—like I was sleepwalking or something. George woke me up. I don't know much about real heroism—just the ideal version of it—but I think he saved me." Usually he tried not to talk about his dead former roommate. Doing so depressed him. But sometimes he couldn't stop himself. George had profoundly impacted him, and that fact was impossible to ignore.

"That's a nice thought," Jenny told him. "You should build on it. Use it to improve yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if George is a hero to you—if he saved you like you say he saved you—you should honor him by making your life a tribute to him."

Cody shrugged, a bit disgruntled. "I don't think it's that simple."

"No, you're right, it's not. But it's a small step; the small steps are always the hardest, but you have to take them."

Cody thought about that, but then shook his head. "Sorry…I can't." When he saw that she was let down, he quickly tried to explain: "I can't _build _myself from something like that. It's too hard."

"Why's it so hard?"

"Everything I think…everything I decide to put my faith in…in the end, it's just disconnected thoughts and feelings. They're so unpredictable."

"That's the point!" Jenny exclaimed enthusiastically. "They're not _supposed_ to be predictable! Predictability is the problem here; you've lived your life in a bubble, Cody—a small, tightly enclosed bubble where you controlled everything…where everything had to be in its place, and everything had to happen at a specific time, and in a specific way. It doesn't work like that!"

"Why can't it?" Cody was noticeably getting peeved now. "Why can't we control things? Why can't we have power over ourselves?"

"We _do _have power," Jenny said matter-of-factly. "But…only to an extent."

Cody huffed. "And that's just bullshit if you ask me."

"_I_ don't think so," Jenny respectfully contradicted.

Cody stared at her, waiting for her to expand on that.

"If we controlled everything, nothing would happen except that which we _wanted_ to happen."

"Is that bad?"

"Yes, it is. Life would cease to be beautiful. Often our greatest moments come out of unexpected circumstances. And by 'greatest moments' I don't just mean the moments that make us happy; I mean the moments that touch us, the moments that teach us lessons, the moments that show us who we truly are—those are the moments that mean something, Cody, and most of them would never occur if we had our way all the time."

Cody thought about her words. They made sense, he couldn't deny that. But he was unable to bring himself to condone them. Not fully. And there was one main reason why: "George killed himself, Jenny," he said, his voice serious and grave. "That's what happens when you don't have any control."

"George _chose_ to die. His death was of his own doing."

"Well, yeah, that may be, but…what prompted him to do it was not."

Jenny looked at him in perplexity. "What do you mean?"

"He lived a rough life—an underprivileged life full of pain and abuse." Cody turned his eyes away from Jenny, unable to look at her anymore, as she was a living reminder of George and Fairoaks. "Why?" he implored. "George hadn't asked for such a life…and he sure as hell didn't deserve such a life. So why the fuck did he have to put up with one?"

Jenny shook her head, knowing where he was coming from. "I don't know," she conceded. "I don't think anyone knows why some people suffer like that."

"That's precisely my point!" Cody exclaimed. "If people were responsible for themselves—the pilots, so to speak—of their own lives, why would so many things happen to them that they couldn't control? And why would those things have such a huge influence on them? Think about me, personally…and think about yourself. How much in our lives do you and I get to decide? How much do we just react to? You see what I'm saying? It's messed up. We're just products of whatever's handed to us." His eyes involuntarily went back to hers and held them; it was as though he could see inside her soul. "I never asked to be a twin, Jenny. I never asked to be born. Don't get me wrong, I love Zack. But I never asked for people to compare me to him. I never asked to be invisible. I never asked…I never wanted…to…to feel like I had to change myself so people would know me for _me, _instead of him."

"Wait, are you blaming other people for what you did?"

Cody sighed. "No. No, I'm not. It's just… it ticks me off that none of this crap would have happened if no one had ever compared me to Zack." He rubbed his fingers over his eyes, pretending to wipe leftover sleep from them when he was really wiping away pooling tears. "I don't know," he said hopelessly. "Maybe being a twin is my issue."

Another moment of silence came over them. A girl on a bicycle, who was travelling in the opposite direction that they were, stopped when she was close enough to make contact and asked them where a specific street was. "I'm new here," she explained. "I was supposed to meet up with some friends and I totally got lost."

Jenny happily obliged her, pointing her finger in the relative direction of the girl's destination, and then walked on, Cody trailing at her side.

After a while he spoke again, going even deeper into the subject they'd been tackling. "You know, they say life begins at conception," he stated. "So a fertilized egg is a person? Well, what if it splits? That's what happens with twins. What am I, half a person?"

Jenny almost laughed. "That's silly."

"Why is that silly? Isn't it possible?"

"I don't know about _possible," _she said, "but it's definitely not scientifically sound."

Cody shook his head. "I know _that_, but still…there's got to be a reason why I feel this way."

"Call it an identity crisis."

"Oh great," Cody remarked sarcastically. "That's _just_ what I need—an identity crisis. On top of everything else!"

Inadvertently, Jenny's lips pulled apart and formed a smile.

"Why are you smiling? What is there to smile about?"

"I just can't believe how irrational you're being."

"Oh, so now I'm being irrational. Keep going, this is getting good."

Jenny decided to humor him. "Look, Cody, we all go through periods of self-doubt like this. Even I have."

"But not everyone is a twin," Cody rebuked.

"You know, you should feel lucky that you're a twin," she argued.

Cody considered that. Thinking about Zack made him feel sorry he'd said what he said, but not to the point where he was willing to take it back. "Sometimes I do," he admitted. "But sometimes… sometimes I just don't know how to feel. It's not like my mom _wanted_ two kids; she'd just been planning on one."

"Maybe," Jenny agreed. "But dwelling on it is only going to make it worse. Besides, I'm sure your mom sees _herself_ as lucky. She got two bundles of joy instead of one."

_Oh yeah, that's what we were alright—bundles of joy. _

All of a sudden, Jenny's face turned sad. "Now me on the other hand," she went on, "my parents did not want me at _all_. I was an accident."

That threw Cody off. "An accident?" he mused.

"Yep. I owe my existence to a broken condom."

Cody was taken aback. "Did your parents _tell _you that?"

"They weren't _going_ to," she confessed. "My dad let it slip on my seventh birthday."

"I'm sorry. That's awful."

"It was," she told him. "For the longest time, I felt like I wasn't supposed to be alive. It was kind of ironic in a way; both of my parents came from wealthy backgrounds and actually _had_ the money for kids, yet neither of them wanted any."

"Did you ever hurt yourself?" Cody didn't know where that question came from, but once it was out he didn't regret it.

"Surprisingly no, but I thought about it multiple times. In the end, the whole thing had the opposite effect on me; I overcompensated for the truth by trying to be the perfect daughter. When I went to high school, I tried out for just about every sport, I learned to play three different instruments, I consistently blew off parties to study and get good grades, I befriended my teachers…just about anything you could think of that would make a parent proud." Pause. "I drove myself crazy. I hardly had any friends—mostly because I was the richest kid in the neighborhood, but my perfectionist attitude didn't help matters; I practically never dated; I never cut myself any slack…"

She'd never told Cody this before and he was astounded by how much he had in common with her.

"And then one day," she continued, "when I was about to blow off senior prom to go to a seminar, my dad came up to me and said, 'I know why you're doing this, and I don't want you to do it.' By that point, I'd conditioned myself to choose work over fun so I waved him away and was like, 'I know what I'm doing.' He said, 'No, you don't. You're giving up one of the best nights in your life and you don't even realize it.' I asked him what was so special about prom and he said, 'It's not just prom. It's everything. You've avoided fun like the plague since you were a kid, and quite frankly, this is the last straw!' Then he sat down and started blaming himself, saying he was sorry for telling me the truth all those years ago. I told him it wasn't his fault; it was over now…in the past. He asked me if I hated my life and I said no, but I hated the fact that I wasn't even supposed to be alive. He looked at me like he couldn't believe I'd just said that and he told me, he said, 'Okay, so at first I didn't want you. I never wanted kids, so the thought of having one freaked me out. But after you were born…after I saw you…after I held you…that changed.' He couldn't go back and change the fact that he'd created me—even if I'd been aborted it wouldn't have changed the fact that I'd been created in the first place. But once he laid eyes on me, he instantly became a father…even though he'd never wanted to." Jenny took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to soothe the soreness that was erupting in her throat. "And he told me something that day that I'll never forget: 'Sometimes the things we cannot change end up changing us. And sometimes, we're richer for the experience."

"But not always," Cody challenged (though he was genuinely touched by Jenny's story). "Like with what happened to George…"

"Not always," Jenny concurred. "But sometimes. And I wouldn't trade those times for all the predictability in the world."

Cody managed a smile. "So what happened with your senior prom?" he inquired.

Jenny smiled back. "I went," she told him. "Although I hadn't really picked out a dress so I borrowed one from my mom. It was quite embarrassing."

Cody chuckled. "I bet."

Jenny did as well. "But it was fun," she added. "Nothing disastrous happened."

Just then, interrupting the moment, was the ring of a cell phone. Jenny's cell phone. Jenny pulled it out of the left pocket of her corduroy jacket and answered it. "Hello?" She waited. "Are you sure you can't get Liz to do it? She's been off for the last two days."

Cody had no idea who "Liz" was, but he figured she was one of Jenny's co-workers at the nursing home.

"Okay…I see. Yeah, I'll be there. Okay. No problem. Alright, bye." She hung up and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. "That was my boss," she said to Cody. "She wants me to work tonight. Damn it, and it was my only day off this week!"

"Well, call her back up and say no," Cody responded.

"Ha, _sure_!"

Cody gave her an anxious expression. He was worried about her. She was already overworked and under-rested. How long before she could no longer go on? How long before her body gave out and she collapsed somewhere, from exhaustion? He knew he couldn't talk her out of working; she was too diligent and motivated for that. So he sighed and shook his head. _Poor Jenny, _he thought.

She seemed to read his mind. "We better get going and finish this walk," she stated. "Perhaps I can get a few hours rest in before I have to get ready."

"Yeah," Cody consented. "Besides, my homework's not going to do itself."

So they walked full circle around the perimeter of the park and then went their separate ways. Before leaving him, Jenny gave Cody a tight embrace and promised to come visit again soon.

"You do that," he told her. And he meant it. He loved seeing her.

…

That afternoon, at around 3 pm, when Cody was sitting on the living space couch working meticulously on his psychology paper, the door to the suite opened and his brother Zack—who'd been downstairs with Mr. Moseby—came in, looking a little worn out but pleasantly content. "You guys defeat the dragons?" Cody asked with a grin.

"Oh yeah, and the goblins, and the orcs…and the giant Gorosheins," Zack replied cheerily. "We got a lot done."

"What's a 'goroshein'?" Cody asked.

"A giant amphibious monster from the planet Soltar. They were trying to control the galaxy, but Moseby and I, we stopped them."

"Nice."

"We're gonna take on the evil gods next."

"Sounds like fun."

Zack nodded.

"Just don't get carried away," Cody added with a smirk. "If there's anything you don't need right now it's to be put in another 12-step self-help program for getting addicted to a video game." He couldn't help bringing up that memory. Of all the things that Zack could have gotten addicted to as a teenager, it had to have been a video game. He knew he shouldn't have found it funny; addictions weren't comical. And it was actually a relief that his addiction was just games, as opposed to smoking, or drinking, or unprotected sex. Nonetheless, he'd laughed his ass off when Zack—along with Mr. Moseby—had joined a school-sponsored program centered on reversing bad habits.

"Hey, at least I was never a germaphobe!" Zack shot back defensively, and that wiped the smirk right off Cody's face.

_Of course, he just had to make me remember that. _

_How could I forget? _

Cody had dealt with addiction as well. Only his addiction had been hand-sanitizer. He'd had to help himself as well, though he didn't do it through a formal program. Instead, his means of self-help had consisted mainly of books and counterconditioning.

Looking back on it now, he reckoned the whole thing had probably been a subconscious desire to differentiate himself from Zack, who'd rarely showed the slightest concern for hygiene.

"Oh, and by the way," Zack continued, on his way to the bathroom, "you should probably check your emails. Bailey's been sending us messages for weeks, and she got pretty worried when we didn't reply."

"Oh crap!" Cody said. "I totally forgot about that!" He saved what he'd done so far on his paper and opened up Internet on his laptop. "Have you already replied?"

"Yeah, earlier today. But I think it'd be nice if she got a little something from the both of us, you know? Poor girl was scared half to death." With that, Zack disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Cody felt bad for not replying to Bailey. She was one of his closest friends—not to mention his ex-girlfriend—and deserved to be treated as such. She'd done so much for him. She'd gone out of her way to be there for him when he'd needed support. Hell, she'd even flown half-way across the country to come and see him. The least he could do in return was give her updates of how he was every once in a while.

He skimmed through his personal email messages (he had two email accounts, one strictly for Harvard and one for his own pleasure) and instantly saw, to his dismay, that most of them were from Bailey. Dread seized him as he clicked on each and every one and read through their contents, watching as the positive attitude in her first messages slowly turned into the worried outbursts of her last ones. By the time he'd finished, his stomach was knotted up and he felt drained. What to say in reply?

As he was pondering over how he should respond, he checked some of the other messages he had on his personal account. One was from his lawyer, Erin Kyle, reminding him of their meeting on Thursday (even though it was only Saturday), another was from Dr. Maps, asking how he was doing, and another was from a source that he didn't recognize. _Probably an advertisement, _he thought in annoyance as he instinctually clicked on it.

However, it was not an advertisement. It was a private message, just three lines long:

_Hey Cody. Remember me? I bet so. Just to let you know, I'm coming to Boston in a few weeks to see you. There's something I have to tell you. Well, something I have to give you. It's important._

_Sorry if you don't recognize my email address. I created a new one. Anyway, can't wait to see you. _

_Bri_

Cody felt his breath cease and his heart skip a beat. "Bri" was short for "Brianna." And the only "Brianna" he'd ever known was Brianna Marston.


	4. Chapter 4

**And now I present to you chapter 4! Whilst the previous chapters mainly set the premise of the story, this one marks the beginning of the story itself—the meat and potatoes, if you will. You may be a little surprised by the descriptions and memories of Brianna, but keep in mind, Cody has not forgotten her. She played a substantial role in his breakdown. And she'll play an even bigger role here. **

**This chapter also references the very first chapter of **_**Boy, Disrupted**_** (I know, it feels like eons ago…:P) **

**Have fun reading! Please let me know your thoughts! :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the characters that aren't in the show. **

_She emailed me. She actually emailed me. _

_But…why?_

Cody racked his brain but to no avail. No matter how many times he pondered over Brianna's email, he just couldn't form a logical explanation for it. What could she possibly want with him? Why would she be contacting him now, after so much time had gone by? She was the last person in the world he wanted to see (even further down on his list than Erin Kyle)—the last person he'd _hoped_ to see—yet he couldn't suppress a twinge of curiosity. He wondered how she'd been doing, how she and her new boyfriend were coming along, whether or not she could sleep at night knowing what she did to him, if she ever thought of what her actions had entailed.

He wondered if she felt any remorse.

He certainly didn't miss her. Precisely the opposite, he was relieved that she was out of his life; even before the cheating confessions and the break up, she'd been hard to deal with at times. She was very enthusiastic and independent, which was what he'd loved about her, but she was also very high-strung and dominant, and those qualities had nearly driven him to break the relationship apart himself.

Now, looking back, he regretted not doing so. He no longer blamed her unfaithfulness for his attempted suicide (he knew better than to do that), but if he had walked away before it had all gone downhill—if he had just stuck to his guns and said "enough"—he would have saved himself _a lot_ of heartache.

That being said, he'd really loved her. She had not loved him back, and part of him had always known that, but he'd loved her. She was different. She was unique. She represented something rare and special—a person unwilling to conform to social standards, even at the cost of being gawked at and avoided.

She was an attention-seeker if he'd ever seen one. She dyed her hair all colors of the rainbow, starting with red on the left and ending with violet on the right (he actually had no idea what her natural hair color was, though judging from her chocolate brown eyes, he guessed it was probably brown), and she often wore white, star-shaped sunglasses that she'd once found at a thrift store; they'd been on sale for less than a dollar because they were broken, but she bought them anyway and fixed them up with duct tape.

She had a tattoo on her. The day she met him she told him about it. It was a blooming rose directly above her left breast, with a thorny vine that curled around and circled her entire torso. She'd shown it to him the day he'd agreed to see her without her clothes on and he'd found it rather distracting. When he asked her why she didn't get a tattoo in a more "traditional" area like her shoulder blade, or her lower back, or her ankle, she scoffed and said "Because that's so cliché!"

Aside from her appearance, she also had some odd habits and characteristics. She would never take Cody shopping with her unless it was for necessities, like food and appliances. Whenever she bought clothes she wanted to be alone; she said she liked to surprise him with the outfits she picked out. Though, they hardly ever remained the way they were when she got them. Usually she took scissors to them and shredded them in every which way imaginable. It was amazing how some of them managed to not fall off.

She also preferred to be on top during sex. In all the times she and Cody had slept together, Cody had only been on top once, and that was when she'd bet him money that he couldn't please her as much as she could please him. Most of the time Cody didn't mind, but she liked it rough. She liked clawing and biting and kicking, and knocking down anything and everything that happened to be in the vicinity of the bed. And he wasn't fond of that. He liked gentle sex, passionate but not violent.

She loved being spontaneous, especially when it came to conversations. Every time she spoke she said something random and out of the ordinary. Sometimes it was amusing. Sometimes it was down-right peculiar.

Cody remembered one such time. He'd been in Brianna's dorm room, lying down on her bed without a shirt on, trying to get a nap in after taking a ridiculously long midterm. He wasn't the least bit horny...but Brianna thought differently.

Wearing just a bra and a checkered mini-skirt, standing next to her desktop which had iTunes open and was playing Madonna's _Vogue, _she turned to him, a sexy smirk on her face. "I love it when you do that," she said.

Cody was on the verge of dozing, but he'd heard what she said and was confused by it. "When I do what?" he muttered sleepily.

She sauntered over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to his waist. "Lie on the bed shirtless, looking like you want me to fuck you."

"Who says I want you to fuck me?"

She answered without hesitation: "I do."

Cody cocked his eyebrow and looked at her in puzzlement, though he made no objection as she crawled over top of him and straddled him, her legs on either side of his. She was smiling. She was smiling wide, her cherry red lip gloss shining in the light that was spilling in through the window. "Am I right?" she asked seductively. "I'm right, aren't I?"

He wanted to say no, that she wasn't right—that he didn't want to have sex with her right now. That he wanted to sleep and be left alone for a while. He had every intention of being honest, but for some reason seeing her face rendered that impossible.

He couldn't remember how, but he'd ended up sighing and saying, "Yeah, you're right."

She was pleased. She smiled delightedly. "I knew it!" she said happily. Then she deliberately changed her expression to a feigned look of uncertainty—the "martyr" look, as Cody called it. "Well, I suppose I should give you what you want…shouldn't I? That's what a _good_ girlfriend would do." She ran the manicured nail of her index finger across his chest and down his stomach, rotating it around his nipples, poking it into his navel, and continuing until it reached the button on his jeans.

She tucked her bottom lip under her top teeth as she popped it open. "Am I a good girlfriend?" she asked.

It wasn't the first time she'd asked that. She seemed to think having intercourse with him and giving him blowjobs made her a good girlfriend. And for some unknown reason, before they got started, she would always ask if she was. It was as though she needed reassurance. A veil of comfort, so to speak, before she preceded.

There was a time, though, when that changed and she no longer cared—when she only thought about pleasing herself…or more accurately, her impulsive whims.

"Yeah," he answered her.

She grinned in return. "Hell yeah, I am."

Then she took it from there. And he didn't resist.

She had a fondness for odd, or otherwise controversial, subject matter. Anything that went against the grain of society drew her eye. She was an intelligent girl who liked to contemplate rules—and question them. Her distance from normality defined her, and Cody often landed in between.

One day, when they were walking to the school library after stopping off a Starbucks for some mochas, she said to him, "Why do you think people see blue as a masculine color and pink as a feminine color?"

The question seemed like it should have been easy to answer, but as Cody contemplated it, he realized it wasn't. It was like asking why some people were male and some were female, the answer to which was: they just are.

"Uh…I don't know," he responded. "Maybe there's some historical connotation to it."

"I think it's ridiculous," Brianna remarked. "It's so sexist. And you know what really pisses me off? The fact that girls can wear blue and be legit but if guys wear pink, they're automatically seen as gay, or less manly."

"I've seen some guys wear pink," Cody put in, which was perfectly true.

"I have respect for guys like that," Brianna stated matter-of-factly.

Interestingly enough, the guy she'd cheated with—Tyler—had been wearing a pink shirt the day she met him.

"You know," Cody said after sipping his coffee, "I wouldn't mind wearing pink shirts for you once in a while, if it'd make you happy."

Brianna looked at him as if he'd told her he'd die for her. "Oh, would you?"

"Sure."

"That'd be great." She wrapped her arm around him. "Thanks, Cody."

"No problem."

He'd hated wearing pink shirts (mostly because he hated the color pink), but never once did he complain. She was his girlfriend; therefore, she was worth it.

Their conversation about masculinity versus femininity had ended then. But it had been resumed, more or less, on a later day when she'd asked another seemingly random question: "Isn't it weird that guys don't get their belly buttons pierced?"

"Not really," Cody had replied, snickering a little at the very notion of that.

"I'm being serious," she'd told him. "Guys can pierce everything that girls can except their belly buttons. Why is that?"

He had no idea. Getting piercings hadn't exactly been on his list of things to do. "I think it would just look wacky," he said.

"Wacky is good in my book."

"I've noticed."

Cody was worried she'd ask him to get one, in which case the answer would have been a flat-out no. He could live with wearing a pink shirt every once in a while, but sticking a needle in his belly was out of the question.

Thankfully, Brianna didn't ask.

Cody never forgot the day Zack met her for the first time. It had been a Friday morning, when Zack and his parents had come to visit him at Yale and take him home for Thanksgiving Break. He was in the midst of packing his stuff when a tapping on his door interrupted him. He already knew who it was. "Shit," he swore under his breath, "they're early."

Brianna was in the room with him, sitting backwards in the wooden chair at his desk, her arms crossed over its back. She'd been trying to pass the time by mindlessly blowing huge bubbles with a wad of bubblegum she'd stuffed into her mouth, all the while trying to pretend she wasn't insanely bored (though Cody could easily tell she was). So the arrival of her boyfriend's family was a relief to her. She even opted to get the door.

Cody tried to object—"No, I don't think that's such a good idea"—but it was too late. Brianna had hopped off the chair and was half-way to the door before he could say another word.

A shiver darted up his spine. He'd been dreading this day for weeks—the day the girlfriend got to meet the parents, and the twin brother he'd told her so much about. It wasn't an entirely new concept to Cody. He'd had other girlfriends before and each of them had once had to meet his family for the first time. Logically, there was no reason why this should have been bothering him.

Nevertheless, it was. Badly.

Brianna was different. He was sure she was like nothing they'd ever laid eyes on. She was the type of person you heard quirky stories about but never got to meet. A "fantasy" girl, and not the kind that boys daydreamed about, but the kind that made others turn their heads, raise an eyebrow, and say "Seriously?"

She wasn't exactly dressed appropriately for a family get-together. She was wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a purple top that managed to show more skin than it covered; the top half of her back was completely exposed, and in the shirt's front she'd cut out a triangular hole that revealed both her cleavage and her rose tattoo. Cody had practically begged her to change into something "less showy and more casual" but she would hear none of it.

Her defense was: "If they're going to accept me for me, I have to show them who I am from the very beginning."

Cody could tell by his family's surprised expressions that they thought the same thing he did: she was dressed badly. Zack's description of it, which he later shared with Cody in private, was "like a prostitute," but he kept his mouth shut while in her presence.

They'd all acted courteously towards her, asking her questions about where she was from, what field of study she was going into, what her hobbies were, how she and Cody met, and so on and so forth. And she was very honest in her answers. But there had been a general tension about the atmosphere—a mutual feeling of discomfort and mistrust. To Cody's dismay, he could tell that his parents wanted to leave.

Later that same day, before getting into the car and leaving for Boston, Zack asked Cody to join him in the men's restroom right down the hall. At first, Cody couldn't understand why but when his brother gave him a serious look that implied utmost importance, he immediately agreed.

When they were in there, Zack took him to the back, past the stalls and urinals, to where the sinks were. "I need to talk to you," he said.

"Okay, shoot," Cody replied apathetically.

"It's about your girlfriend."

Cody waited, crossing his arms, preparing himself for the worst.

"I think you should break up with her."

Cody groaned in irritation. "Ugh, I knew this was coming!" he carped. "What is it, Zack? What don't you like about her? Is it the fact that she's pretty? Are you jealous of me?"

"What? No!" Zack intoned incredulously. "That's not it at all. It's that…I don't trust her. I don't know why exactly…but I don't like her. She strikes me as a slut, and believe me, I would know. I've dated a couple of them myself. The way she acts…I don't know…I don't think you should get involved with her. I'd hate to see you end up getting hurt. You could do better than her anyway. I know you can. Bailey was a decent girlfriend; Barbara was a decent girlfriend. You should try to find someone like them. At least find a girl who actually cares for someone else other than herself."

That was when Cody's "faithful boyfriend" frame of mind kicked into overdrive and he'd flown off the handle: "You don't even know her, Zack!" he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the rectangular men's room. "She loves me. She'd never hurt me. I've always picked good girlfriends, Zack, unlike you. Trust me, I'm a better judge of character than you _ever _were!"

Zack was clearly hurt by his words but he didn't say so. And Cody knew that some of what he said wasn't even true; he hadn't always chosen good girlfriends. In comparison to some of Zack's, his were respectable. But some of them were far from good.

Aside from that, Cody also knew that he wasn't exactly a better judge of character than Zack was. Zack had often chosen to hang with the wrong crowd of people, but that didn't necessarily mean he had a poor judge of character. Frequently his reason for spending time with such people was to uphold his rumored rep as a "bad boy."

This conversation, though short in duration, would eventually lead to countless phone fights between the twins, as well as some bitter exchanging of words…majority of which neither of them meant.

And then, after that, came the betrayal.

Cody shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He saw that his laptop was still on and it was overheating, so he shut it down and put it away. He still needed to finish his paper, but he decided to work on that later. He needed to relax for a minute. Thinking about Brianna—reminiscing on the time he'd wasted in trying to make her happy—had heated him up. He felt anger course through him like a current, boiling his blood, speeding his heart. He'd loved her and she'd betrayed him.

_The things we do, _he mused. _The things we give away. _

_Is it ever worth it?_

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, calming himself down.

Just then, the door to the suite opened and his mother walked in. She was wearing a blue strapless dress that came down to her heels and black stilettos that made her look four inches taller than she really was. Her hair, which she'd decided to keep long, was pinned up in an elegant twist and from her ears dangled silver earrings with blue stones in them. Her face was plastered with make-up but the exhaustion in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Hey Mom," Cody greeted. "How was the show?"

"Fine," she responded.

"Moseby's got you working pretty hard, hasn't he?"

"It's not his fault. I request the extra shows. Being absent for so long certainty didn't help us financially." She flashed her son an accusatory glance that instantly replaced his previous fury with a rush of guilt.

_I'm sorry Mom_, he wanted to say. _I'm sorry for everything._ But he held his tongue.

"Where's Zack?" she questioned, noticing that her other son was nowhere in sight.

"He went grocery shopping," Cody told her.

Zack had gone to the Paul Revere Mini-Mart around the corner of the street to pick up some food for the following week. He'd promised to be back in anywhere from fifteen to twenty minutes; however, Cody suddenly realized that he'd been gone longer than that. "He should be back by now," he added. "Maybe I should call him on his cell phone."

Carey shrugged. Zack wasn't the son she was worried about; she trusted Zack "I'm sure he's fine," she said indifferently. "He probably just decided to stop off somewhere else while he was at it. You know him. Time isn't exactly something he keeps track of."

Cody thought about that. He wanted to believe her, but for some reason he couldn't. He felt strange—like something bad was happening, or was about to happen, and he would have no control over it. He didn't fully understand why, but he was scared.

His mother noticed his fear. "Hey, what's the matter?" she asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch and rubbing his back as though he were a child again.

He shook his head, refusing to answer. She would have thought it foolish anyway. Worrying about Zack when he'd only gone to the Paul Revere Mini-Mart less than a block away? How pathetic was that? What could possibly happen?

From down the street, Cody suddenly heard police car sirens. They were faint at first, but kept growing...louder, and louder, and louder. Until the cars themselves rushed by the Tipton hotel. Instinctively, Cody got up off the couch and looked down at them from the window of suite 2330, watching their lights flash red and blue as they sped past the building and turned the corner.

…

The Paul Revere Mini Mart was nothing like it used to be. It'd been rearranged a few summers ago and all the products had been moved to different areas. It was unnerving. Yet Zack couldn't mistake the familiarity of the building itself—the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It brought back so many memories. Mostly memories of mishaps between him and his brother when they'd worked there as teens, but even mishaps had their own substance.

All the fights he and Cody used to get into while stocking the aisles…he wouldn't have traded them for the world.

Funny how certain things that were frustrating when they happened get remembered as some of the best events in a person's life. It actually made sense after thinking about it. Once someone has dealt with real problems, and felt real pain, and seen the real face of rage, childhood fights seem comical.

Zack took a moment to look around. The place was nearly vacant, with the exception of an old lady, a middle-aged man, two teenage boys wearing hoodies, and a woman holding the hand of a little girl who was dressed in a yellow sundress, clutching a bright red sippy cup in her other hand.

Wayne was no longer there. Now the manager was an older guy—thin and gangly, with gray hair, hideous frown lines, and bifocals hanging over a long, crooked Roman nose.

Zack grimaced. He wasn't typically one for judging people but he did not get a good vibe from him. Of course, Wayne hadn't been all that good either. But he would have taken Wayne's goofy grin and oafish mannerisms over this guy any day.

Zack was standing in the small pharmacy aisle, looking at various sleeping medications, when he heard screaming from over near the cash register. Without thinking, he put down the bottle of Lunexor he'd been holding and raced to the front of the store, where he saw one of the teenage boys pointing a 9-millimeter handgun at the terrified cashier, who was backed against the far wall behind the register machine, his hands up in surrender. The other teen was turned toward the customers. The old lady had begun to cry, the middle-aged man had bent down over her to comfort her, and the mother was shielding her daughter, who was bawling in fear and confusion.

Though he wanted to say something, he was incapable of doing anything except stare in awe at the would-be criminals. He could tell they were new at this; their intimidation was clearly embellished and it reeked of amateurism. The second boy—who was aiming a .357-Magnum somewhere between the old lady and the mother—kept shaking uncontrollably and acted as though the smallest movement would set him off…which unfortunately made him even more dangerous.

The whole thing felt so bizarre—like a lucid dream, or a sick joke. Why would anyone, even a newbie criminal, rob a mini-mart? Why not a huge supermarket? Or better yet, a bank! This place only had one cash register, and therefore only a limited amount of money.

In a way, it did make sense though. Bigger stores often meant more security. The only defender of this place was the cashier, who looked like he was about to wet himself if he hadn't already.

"Okay Sarge," said the teen with the 9-millimeter, "you know the drill. Empty the register." It was so formulaic. This kid had clearly watched one too many crime dramas.

Nonetheless, the cashier quickly pulled open the register, pulled out all the dollar bills inside, and handed them over.

Keeping the gun poised, the teen snatched the money away and stuffed it in the front pocket of his jeans. It wasn't much. The Paul Revere Mini-Mart wasn't all that successful; it managed, but that was about it. "Good man," the teen said. "You know what's best for you. That's good."

The cashier swallowed and attempted to speak. "Okay, y-you've got your money," he murmured. "Now go and leave us alone."

The armed teen bore an exaggerated look of astonishment. "Wow, _someone_ wasn't raised with manners." He leaned in towards the cashier, his cocked gun coming closer to the cashier's body. "Can I get a 'please'?"

The cashier didn't hesitate in giving him one. "P-please."

"There. That's better."

Everyone waited for the boy and his accomplice to leave. They didn't.

In the midst of all the anticipation, the new Zack and the old Zack started fighting. They had different views on the situation, and both were competing for the driver's seat in Zack's head. "So you're just going to stand there and watch an entire robbery?" mused the new Zack. "For God's sake, _do_ something!"

"_What_?" intoned the old. "No freaking way!"

"Why not? These two punks are kids. _Kids_! They can't be any older than seventeen. They're younger than _you_!"

"Yeah, maybe…but they've got guns."

It was the fight or flight regime, with the old Zack pushing for flight and the new one screaming to fight. Zack was afraid, but part of him felt he shouldn't be. He knew what helplessness felt like—how it fed off a person's mind, throwing their will power to the flames, leaving them with nothing to hope for. Nothing to have faith in. He knew that feeling all too well. At one time, it had nearly destroyed him.

But not now. Not this time.

The teen with the 9-millimeter slightly turned his head and peered in the direction of his partner. "Say, Ricky, you ready to leave yet?" he asked.

He'd just said his partner's name. Big mistake.

"Whenever you are, man," the boy known as Ricky replied.

The first teen glanced back at the cashier, flashing him a don't-you-dare-try-to-pull-anything look, and then turned around completely and approached his accomplice. He took notice of the customers. "My friend keep you guys pleasantly occupied?" he chortled deviously, winking at them.

It was a rhetorical question so no one answered, but within the silent, dreadful moment, the new Zack snatched the driver's seat out of the old Zack's grasp, and before Zack even knew what he was doing, words were escaping his mouth—words of sense and reason: "Why are you doing this?" It was so unreal, yet he was unable to stop himself. "I understand times can be shitty. But no matter how desperate you are, you don't have to do this. You could put an end to this right now if you wanted to. No one would hurt you."

"Shut up!" the teen hollered, pointing his 9-millimeter at Zack. "Don't even think about trying to mind-fuck me!"

"I'm not mind-fucking you," Zack argued, keeping his voice calm and peaceful.

The boy snorted, obviously in disbelief.

"Look, I don't know who you are," Zack continued. "But I do know that neither of you have ever robbed a store before. Once you do this, there's no turning back. Even if you get away with it, this'll always be on your head. Is that what you want?"

"It's none of your damn business what I want!" the teen shouted. "You know, you sure talk a lot for someone who's got a gun pointing at him!" Then he smiled. "You got a death wish?"

Usually a question like that would have made Zack panic, but somehow, miraculously, he remained composed.

"Well, do you?" the teen urged.

"I think he _does_!" his partner, Ricky, piped in.

The first boy's smile widened, shifting into a malicious grin. "Then I'm happy to grant his wish."

Zack knew he wasn't being serious. If he'd intended to shoot him—or anybody else, for that matter—he would have done it already. He was just trying to scare him with typical antagonist tactics.

"Leave him alone," the cashier pleaded from behind the register. "He's just a kid, same as you."

The teen turned back to acknowledge him. "You got something to say to me? Huh?"

The cashier stiffened in fear. "Please…" he muttered, "don't kill him."

"You hear that?" the teen said to Zack. "That man back there just begged for your life. He even said 'please.' Now I feel inclined to indulge _him." _He paused, thinking about what he was going to do—making a sudden decision. "Tell you what, my partner and I are gonna go… and we prefer to leave in peace, so the next person to speak is gonna get a bullet in them. Is that clear?"

Everyone nodded and kept quiet. Everyone, that is, except for the little girl holding the sippy cup, who hadn't quit crying. She was the only one making any noise, as the old lady had wiped her tears and calmed herself.

"And that includes children!" the boy added. "Jeez, would someone shut that brat _up_!" Automatically, his gun went towards her and there was a collection of gasps that emitted from the customers, the loudest of which came from the girl's mother who knelt down in front of her and tried desperately to soothe her.

The teen didn't move his gun. Instinctively, Zack stepped in front of the child and positioned himself to where the gun's barrel was taking direct aim at his ribcage. His hands went up in surrender. He said nothing but his face bore a stoic expression that seemed to say, "Go ahead, shoot."

The teen looked at him for a long moment, as though wondering why he would do something like that. Then, slowly, he lowered his gun. He tapped his partner on the shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's get the hell outta here. We got what we came for."

Then both of the boys were gone, leaving the cashier and the customers behind to wonder what had just happened. And why. Unknowingly, three of them got out their cell phones and simultaneously called the police.

Not Zack. He decided instead to call Cody.


End file.
